


I can see the light between the lines

by blackkat



Series: Jon Antilles prompts [16]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief Jon/Shank by way of trolling, Flirting, Force Healing, Humor, Injury, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi is an incorrigible flirt pass it on, Rescue, Surprise Kissing, on Shank's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Whyis my medic kissing a dead man?” Obi-Wan demands.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jon Antilles
Series: Jon Antilles prompts [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941646
Comments: 40
Kudos: 919
Collections: Star Wars Alternate Universes





	I can see the light between the lines

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Jon/Obi-wan and this wasn't how he'd wanted to let the people know he was alive. Just because it was inconvenient, however, didn't mean that he'd leave his fellow Jedi to suffer like this. There was little chance that he'd be able to hide his identity from Kenobi, but maybe he could convince him to let Jon continue in obscurity and helping from the outside. He was a little uncomfortable with how happy the man was to see him alive, but that was a minor issue, really. As was the hand holding. Ahem

“The whole ridge is collapsing,” Knol says grimly, Fay's fingers pressed to the blood-matted fur of her brow. Her mane is scorched, shorter on one side than the other, and Jon knows just how much fire it takes to overwhelm her. It’s not a good sign.

“They're trapped?” Fay asks, grey eyes worried even as she closes lacerations and regrows fur. “I could—”

“No offense, Fay, but even you can't concentrate on thirty things at once,” Knol says frankly, “and with the amount of shelling, you’d have to focus on that, not the cave, or you’d end up a smear on the ground.”

Fay's lips thin, but she doesn’t argue, just casts a quick look at the blooms of dust and fire rising over the ridge. “With two of us,” she says, “I could hold off the shelling and you or Jon could open the cave.”

“They're kilometers down,” Knol counters. “And the fact that we found any sort of map at all is down to Nico being a bullheaded bastard. They won't have anything like that. You’d have to hold the Seps off for hours while we looked for them, convinced them to abandon their mission, and then lead them back up. It’s not going to work.”

Jon doesn’t say that if they leave the 212th and the 501st down there, all of them will die, and if they don’t finish their mission, the planet will likely be lost. Knol knows that as well as he and Fay do. Instead, he takes a careful breath, turning his head to study the tall, narrow ridge separating them from the battlefield and considers their options. There are…distressingly few. This whole planet’s geology is fragile, and the Separatists shelling here has turned the entire continent into an earthquake ready to happen. That’s likely the point; the capital city sits on this fault line, and with enough of a bombardment, the ground underneath it will give way entirely, crushing whatever is left of the natives’ resistance.

Obi-Wan and his men are trying to find and disarm charges planted in the massive network of caves that run beneath the earth, from what Nico was able to gather. Those will do what the shelling is attempting with twice the speed, and kill both squads that are down there at the same time. They can't allow it to happen.

“I’ll go,” he says quietly. “I can help them find the charges and then lead them out. Nico’s map should be accurate enough.”

“Didn’t you hear me, drifter?” Knol demands, sharp with frustration. “We _can't_ get in with that shelling, and the cave entrance is collapsed—”

“I wasn’t planning to go through the entrance,” Jon counters, and Knol stops, frowning deeply.

“I was under the impression that you needed some kind of visual reference for your little space-folding trick,” she says warily. “You're not going to have a reference down there.”

Jon hesitates. In _theory_ , he should be able to teleport right into the cavern—Dark Woman can do it without lines of sight, after all. Jon was never the best student, couldn’t manage half of what she wanted, but—

“I can give you line of sight,” Fay says determinedly, sitting back. Her long hair drags in the scorched earth around her, but she doesn’t seem to notice, or care if she does. When Jon glances at her, wary of any potential recklessness, she arches a brow at him and says, “The people down there can see their surroundings. If I touch their minds, it will be easy enough to build a full picture that I can share with you.”

Only Fay, Jon think with a touch of weary ruefulness, would be so cavalier about mentally connecting deeply enough to see through several unfamiliar beings’ eyes from at least six kilometers away, and then relaying that image to someone else simultaneously. If Jon tried that, not only would it likely not work, he’d probably knock himself out in the process.

Apparently having the same thought, Knol scoffs, tossing her mane. “Oh, is that all?” she drawls, and snorts at the look Fay gives her. “Oh, you know what you are. Antilles, will that work?”

Jon just shrugs. He’s never had occasion to try it before, but there are more reasons for it to work than not, given what he knows of the technique. “There may be wounded down there,” he says. “Travel will be slow. If I can't find the charges—”

There's a pause as Knol and Fay exchange glances. “Well,” Knol says after a moment. “If I'm not digging around in caves, I should at least be able to buy you some time. I’ll see if I can't sabotage a few of those cannons.”

“And find a commander who knows where the charges are,” Fay agrees, tipping her chin up. Her eyes are hard. “If I do, I’ll relay the information, Jon.”

Knol grunts. “You need to disable at _least_ three charges or that whole thing is going to come down on you,” she says. “And preferably try and reinforce the pillars. They’ll respond to the Force, you just have to ask.”

Jon inclines his head. There are very old Force traditions on this planet, meant for stabilizing the land, and Nico found enough information on them that it shouldn’t be impossible for Jon to try something similar.

“Obi-Wan will recognize me,” he says, quiet, and Fay sighs, brushing her fingers through her hair.

“Yes,” she agrees wryly. “Not how we wanted our secret to come out, but—if we don’t save him, no one will. That’s worth revealing ourselves.”

Fay's conviction is always a startlingly bold thing, a current of pure light in the Force. Jon bows his head, accepting that readily, and says, “We should move.”

Fay closes her eyes, sitting back on her knees, and breathes out. “One minute,” she murmurs, and Jon feels the brush of her mind, the edge of her vast presence in the Force slipping outward. Quickly, he rises to his feet, checking that he has everything, and nods to Knol.

“Eyes open, vagabond,” Knol says, fond. “If Obi-Wan made it into the tunnels, droids probably did, too.”

“I can handle droids,” Jon says simply. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Knol returns. “Don’t let Kenobi punch you for all of us faking our deaths.”

Jon grimaces. That’s one part of all of this that he isn't looking forward to, but—the odds that Obi-Wan _won't_ recognize him are miniscule. If he _does_ punch Jon, it’s likely justified, given how the four of them used the Queyta mission to go underground.

Before he has to make a promise he likely won't keep, though, Fay makes a quiet sound of victory, and lifts her head. “Jon,” she says, and Jon closes his eyes, opens his mind to the touch of her thoughts, and gets one instant of a crystal-clear image, dark stone and high ceilings and ancient carvings on the walls. Without hesitation, he fixes it in his thoughts, then raises his hands, breathes—

It’s a matter of touching two points in space and just… _folding_ them. The Force is everything, empty space and occupied, and if he reaches one, imagines reaching the other, and then—

 _bends it_ —

One hard step and Jon staggers, catching himself on the cavern wall as his vision swims with spots of light. There's a shout near him, a rush of movement, a clatter of blasters, and Jon jerks back, throwing a hand up. A dozen bolts freeze in midair, and there's a low sound.

“You!” a fierce voice says. “Who the kriff are you?”

Anakin Skywalker, Jon thinks, looking past the frozen blaster bolts to the glow of a blue lightsaber, the angry face lit by it. “Peace, Skywalker,” he says, and the Knight pauses, frowning.

Next to him, a trooper in orange-streaked armor lowers his weapon just a little, cocking his head. “You're a Jedi,” he says, and the clone beside him, in blue armor with _jaig_ eyes on his helmet, draws back a little in surprise.

“Yes,” Jon says, and takes a step forward, bringing his hands together and bowing over them. “Master Antilles. You're in danger, and we need to leave this area.”

Relief flickers across Anakin's face, and he deactivates his blade, clipping it to his belt. “I didn’t know there was another Jedi in this system,” he says.

“I was undercover,” Jon says, which is true enough. He flicks his fingers, letting the bolts hit the ground between them, and then crosses the space. “There’s shelling above. It already collapsed the closest entrance, and the rest of this tunnel system will likely be next.”

Anakin hesitates, torn, and then turns, catching his arm. “We _can't_ move,” he says. “Master Obi-Wan is—really hurt.”

Alarm flickers, even if it’s quickly controlled. Jon casts a quick glance across the cavern, taking in the two squads of clones in orange or blue armor, and—

At the far edge, almost directly opposite him, a clone with medic patches and orange-streaked armor is crouched beside a still form, knife in hand as he watches Jon. There's wariness in his face, and he’s put himself directly between Jon and his general, looking like he’ll fight to stay there.

“I can help,” Jon says quietly, and Anakin's expression twists with almost painful relief.

“It’s all internal damage,” he says, quickening his step to keep up with Jon as the two commanders fall in behind them. “There was a tunnel collapse a level up, and Obi-Wan threw us all to safety, but—”

“But he wasn’t smart enough to get his idiot head out of the way,” the medic mutters, vicious with fear, and Jon probably isn't supposed to hear it, but he does anyway. The medic looks him over, then shifts aside, and says more audibly, “I can't do anything for him without full medical facilities and a hell of a lot of luck, but if you can do _anything_ to help him I’ll kiss you on the kriffing mouth—”

“ _Shank_ ,” the commander in orange says, mildly horrified, but Jon just snorts, dropping to one knee. Obi-Wan looks pale, and it’s not just the rock dust. His breathing is shallow, wet, and Jon leans forward, presses a hand to the center of his chest, and feels out the threads of the Force that are twisted out of their natural alignment.

“I can give you the run-down on what’s wrong,” Shank says, and when Jon glances up, he’s watching with wary, narrowed eyes, and he’s still holding the knife. Subtly, half-hidden beside him, but it’s definitely there, and he’s definitely willing to fight to keep his general safe.

“No need,” Jon says quietly. He takes a breath, then meets Shank’s eyes, and says, “This will hurt him, but I can fix what’s been damaged.”

Shank hesitates for three long seconds, then nods sharply. “Want me to hold him down?” he asks.

Jon shakes his head. “No need,” he murmurs, and shifts over, sliding a leg over Obi-Wan’s to sit on his thighs. Leans forward, laying his hands over the spot where most of the damage is, and closes his eyes. Healing is familiar, even if his version is a rough, unpleasant thing in comparison to Fay's; he’s done it to himself enough times to know the method all too well. It isn't a Healer’s method, but a survivor’s, one hard, burning flood of energy that forces the damage to repair itself in one hard, wrenching rush. Painful, but thorough, and Obi-Wan comes gasping awake with a ragged cry, wrenching like he’s going to throw Jon off of him. Jon holds him down, letting the last of the feeling fade, and Obi-Wan slumps back with rasping breaths, wide eyes on the roof of the cavern.

“General!” Shank says quickly, and gets a hand on his shoulder to pin him in place, other one already holding a scanner. He traces it up and down Obi-Wan’s torso, then sits back, surprise flickering across his face and meeting rising relief.

“Shank?” Anakin asks. “Master?”

“He’s fine,” Shank says, and lifts his head as Jon slides off Obi-Wan’s legs. His expression is almost aggressive, but Jon can't sense anything hostile in him right now. “You—I've never seen healing like that. Not from any of the Jedi.”

Jon shrugs a little, ducking his head. “For emergencies,” he says, and Shank’s laugh is a rough thing. He reaches out, and before Jon can so much as start to react, there’s a hand in his tunics, a wrench, a twist—

Shank’s mouth collides with his, and Jon freezes solid.

From beside them, there's a choked sound, and Obi-Wan demands, “ _Why_ is my medic kissing a dead man?”

“ _What_?” the commander in orange asks, and a dozen blasters are suddenly rising again, leveled at Jon. Jon would be more worried—or worried in general—if Shank didn’t take the opportunity to deepen the kiss for one bewildering, slightly breathtaking second. Then, a moment later, he’s pulling back, smirking like he just won something.

“Ease up, Commander,” he says, and lets go of Jon like the kiss wasn’t anything remarkable at all. Another medic in blue and white armor grabs him with an exasperated sound, hauling him back, and Shank pulls an offended face. “What? I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Lieutenant,” the commander says warningly. “Move away from him. Kix, keep him back.”

With a low groan, Obi-Wan pushes up, then slumps forward over his knees with a pained grimace, one hand coming up to press against the bottom of his sternum. “Cody, it’s fine,” he says, and lifts his head to look at Jon. Jon wants to wince at the look in his eyes; it’s something unnervingly close to wonder, and it makes guilt crawl through his stomach.

“Congratulations on your appointment to the Council, Master Kenobi,” he says, for lack of anything better that comes to mind, and bows.

Before he even makes it all the way down, though, hands catch his, wrap around his gloved fingers and grip. “You _are_ Jon Antilles,” Obi-Wan says, and when Jon glances up, Obi-Wan looks torn between bewilderment and relief. “But I saw Durge push you into the lava on Queyta. How on the world did you survive?”

“He teleported,” Anakin says unexpectedly, and unlike the clones, he doesn’t look wary at all. Instead, he’s grinning, bright and enthusiastic. “The same way he got down here. Right, Master Antilles?”

Jon hesitates, then inclines his head. “A Force barrier against my skin, and then teleportation,” he confirms.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a long moment. “Well,” he says wryly, “given that you’ve been falsely reported as dead more times than any other Jedi I'm aware of, I suppose it isn't surprising. The others…”

“I went back for them,” Jon says, and Obi-Wan freezes. A little self-consciously, Jon tugs at the edge of his hood, and says, “That wasn’t nearly enough fire to kill Knol—she was just unconscious. Nico was simple enough to reach before he fell, and Fay healed him.”

“Fay,” Obi-Wan says, and his hands clench tight around the one of Jon's he’s still holding. “She gave me—I felt her fade. She wasn’t—”

Jon smiles, just a little. “If five hundred years as a Jedi didn’t manage to kill Fay,” he says gently, “I don’t know why you think a simple healing would be able to. Mind your self-recriminations, Master Kenobi. They help no one, and cloud your mind.”

Anakin's expression washes into indignation, but before he can say anything, Obi-Wan smiles ruefully. “Noted, Master Antilles,” he says, and then, more softly, “Thank you.”

Jon doesn’t quiet know what to do with the gratitude, but he inclines his head. “We need to leave this place,” he says. “You and your men are in danger.”

Obi-Wan hesitates, glancing up at Anakin. “We need to locate those charges before we can think about leaving,” he says. “They're—”

“West of us,” Jon says, because the Force draws him in that direction. “I’ll help you find them.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then he smiles. Grips Jon's hand a little more tightly, and says, “We would be honored to have a Jedi of your reputation assist us in this, Master Antilles.”

Jon's face feels hot, and he ducks his head a little. “It’s a mission for any Jedi who can help,” he says, soft, and Obi-Wan chuckles.

“Well, yes, but I must admit I'm rather partial to your company,” he says. “I got to enjoy so little of it before.” A pause, and he takes a breath, a little of the humor fading into sincerity. “Truly, Master Antilles, I am _very_ glad to know you survived. However it happened, you're a welcome sight indeed.”

Jon strangles the sound that wants to escape his throat, keeps his face hidden as best he can. “Master Kenobi—”

“Obi-Wan, please.” Obi-Wan’s hand loosens, shifts, and he wraps his fingers around Jon's wrist, above his gloves, with his thumb pressed right against bare skin. It shouldn’t make Jon feel something hot and twisty rise in his gut, shouldn’t make his breath catch, but it does. He flicks a quick, almost furtive look at Obi-Wan’s face, and finds Obi-Wan looking back.

His expression is something very close to _delighted_ , and Jon finds that he can't even begin to form words.

“Really,” Obi-Wan says, and reaches up, and Jon can't find it in himself to stop him as long fingers grip his hood, tug it back. It falls away, and Jon feels exposed, stripped bare before the way Obi-Wan’s mouth curves beneath his beard, the light in his ocean-blue eyes, the slant of his smile when he says, “I would very much like to see more of you, Jon.”

“ _Master_ ,” Anakin says, aggrieved, even as Cody groans, and Obi-Wan’s expression immediately shifts into beleaguered innocence.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t you want to have him stick around? Master Jon Antilles is a _legend_ , Anakin, he could be of great assistance in our search—”

“But why do you have to say it like _that_?”

“Like what? I was just speaking the truth—”

Jon's face is hot, and he tugs away from Obi-Wan, retreating behind the bulk of the two clone commanders. “We should move,” he says with all the dignity left to him. “This part of the ridge is unstable, and it’s worsening.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody says, and tips his head to the clone in blue. “Rex, let’s go.”

“Torrent, prepare to march!” Rex calls, and as Cody moves away to round up his own men, Rex pauses. Looks at Jon, then at Obi-Wan and Anakin as Anakin helps his Master to his feet, both of them still bickering. Apparently taking pity on Jon, he says, “I’ve got a holomap of what we’ve managed to chart of the tunnels so far. Want to show me where we’re headed, General?”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Obi-Wan says, and his fingers skim Jon's forearm, manage to brush against exactly the point he touched before, bare skin and heat that makes Jon's breath hitch. “Jon, the Force guides your steps, yes?”

“Yes,” Jon manages, a little rough. “With so many lives in danger, it should—I’ll be able to find the charges.”

“Perfect. And we’ll come along to help with the droids.” The flash of Obi-Wan’s smile is a sly thing, and Jon's fingers itch to reach for his hood. Or maybe to reach for Obi-Wan, though he has no idea what he would do if he did.

Obi-Wan’s fingers brush his pulse-point again, just a glancing touch, and Jon swallows.

He’ll figure it out.


End file.
